


Nutcracker

by H3L



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H3L/pseuds/H3L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Septmus day and Brienne Tarth's family receives a special guest to their festive holiday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nutcracker

**Author's Note:**

> This is shamelessly fluffy, literally sweeter than candy floss, and completely out of character. I just love the Nutcracker and am incapable of seperating Jaime and Brienne from the rest of my life. As always, I have to thank my lovely beta _Snowfright_ for indulging me and consistantly bettering my work. Some thanks must too go to the incomparable _Miss M_ , whose amazing story _The Dark, Dread Toyshop_ was likely what bridged for me Tywin Lannister and Godfather Dosslemeir. 
> 
> I hope at least a few of you enjoy this little bit of holiday candy.

Brienne of Tarth ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on her nightgown as she gripped the bannister at the bottom and used her inertia to swing herself around. She skidded to a halt, her father grabbing her waist and slowing her so suddenly she lost her balance and fell when he let her go. Lord Selwyn Tarth laughed at his daughter’s exuberance. Brienne, at nearly five and ten, was normally a quite reserved girl, perhaps even sullen, but she loved Septmas. All the glittering snow that caped their little island home and the fir trees growing tall and full outside, covered in shiny baubles and strung with gold and silver garlands, couldn’t help but make her glad. _And Renly will come_ , she thought excitedly, scrambling up to sit on the steps. She looked up at her father, her night gown tangled around her thighs and her face red from running. “There is someone at the door, father.” She hummed happily, attempting to look around his legs to see who the visitor was and hoping it was the Baratheon brothers. They were older than she. Renly, being the youngest, was still her senior by nearly a year. 

Selwyn laughed again as Magda, the housekeeper, answered the door. Brienne peaked around but her face froze. In the doorway was not Robert Baratheon and his younger brothers, but a tall and imposing man in a red velvet coat. He had a long black cane, topped with a roaring gold lion. Behind him were two figures, one small enough to be a child and the other nearly as tall as the man in the doorway, both were weighed down with gold-wrapped packages of varying sizes and shapes. “Lord Tywin,” her father bellowed, “it’s good to see you.”

“Yes, thank you for inviting us to your…festivities.” The man in the doorway bowed low, allowing Brienne to glimpse the figures behind him more clearly. Both had hair nearly as golden as the packages they carried. One was short, a dwarf as it happened, and older than Brienne had supposed, perhaps even her age. He had one green eye and one black under thick gold brows. The other was tall and beautiful with eyes like apple grass and a frown so deep it seemed to split his face on a hinge like a puppet. 

“It was my honor,” her father replied, bowing just as deeply and stepping aside. “I’m afraid you are earlier than expected, we’re not quite ready for guests. Let me introduce you to my girl.” Brienne could feel blood rushing to her face as she stared up at the men behind her father, all of them looking at her curiously. “Brienne, this is your Godfather Tywin Lannister, and these are his sons. That’ll be Tyrion there and Jaime’s the tall one.” Brienne blinked up at them for an awkward second that felt like an eternity before scrambling to her feet and tugging at the hem of her nightgown. She wanted to grin smugly when each man’s eyes widened as she stood, her full height made evident. She was as tall as her Godfather’s frowning son Jaime, and for a moment their eyes met and he wasn’t frowning but staring at her gape-mouthed. She inclined her head as a knight would but her father laughed and cuffed her shoulder. “Like your mother showed you, sweetheart.” Brienne bit her lip and curtsied clumsily at her father’s command, making the little brother snigger. 

“Very pleased to meet you,” she told them as gracefully as she could manage. Lord Tywin looked about to reply when music began to play behind her. Brienne’s mother was tuning the instruments in preparation for their guests to arrive, and her Godfather’s eyes left her and lit up brightly. 

“That’ll be Alys,” said her father, “why don’t we go see what she is getting up to? Brienne, go on upstairs and make ready. Get your brothers and sister up too, we’ve guests!” He patted her on the head and gave her a little push towards the parlor. 

Brienne nodded and grinned up at her father, still taller than her with his broad shoulders and blond whiskers. “Yes, ser,” she trumpeted, bouncing on her heels, she spun to fetch Galladon, Podrick and Alyssane. 

“Go with her and leave the gifts by the tree,” Godfather Tywin ordered them with a wave of his large hand, already striding off in the direction of her mother with her Lord father at his side. 

Her mother, Alys, had been a close friend of Tywin Lannister’s late wife Joanna. Brienne could not remember the Lady Joanna, she had died in childbirth when Brienne was too little to remember her, but her mother often spoke of Lady Joanna’s kindness and gentle beauty. Brienne was sad, because she could not remember her Godmother, but though she was dead, Brienne always received the most wonderful gifts at Christmas time and for her birthday from her Godfather _and_ her Godmother. Sometimes it made her mother smile or cry, and she always made Brienne send a ‘Thank You’ letter even though she never received a reply. 

Brienne nodded again and beckoned the laden down youths to follow after her. They were quiet as they walked, the older sullen and the younger peering curiously through his oddly-colored eyes. She took them from the entryway to the large parlor, where her father had erected the massive Septmas tree in the center of the room. It was covered tip to base with painted glass baubles and black, seven-pointed, dragonglass stars. Perched on top of the full, green tree was her favorite decoration, a beautiful glass dragon. It was white and gold, with sapphire eyes and sharp, pearly teeth in its yawning mouth. Beneath the tree there were already gifts, piled high and wrapped in brightly painted paper with frothy ribbons and bows attached. 

“You can stay here, if you’d like. I’ll send Galladon down to meet you,” she muttered, blushing against her will when they both turned to acknowledge her. “I still have to dress Pod and Alysanne,” she explained.

“Alright,” said Jaime at the same time as his brother told her they would go along with her.

“We can come with,” Tyrion repeated himself. “To look around,” he added when both she and Jaime stared at him. Brienne looked to Jaime but he was still looking perplexed, his eyes not leaving his younger brother, who was staring back hard. It was as though they were speaking without opening their mouths, both of them moving their eyebrows and gesturing with their heads. Finally Jaime swung his head back around, his golden hair a halo in the morning light from the snow-covered window pane, scowling. “Go on then, you great, bloody beast of a girl. Lead the way.” Brienne sucked in a breath, taken aback by his sudden insult. 

“My _name_ is Brienne,” she retorted, her face a picture of stoic indignation. She had been called worse, and wouldn’t let this boy be cruel to her on her favorite holiday. She nodded to him and turned away, knowing he would be staring derisively back at her but not caring. She had known boys like him, cruel boys and arrogant. She had spent all her years knocking boys like that in the dust, and this boy would be no different. He was no Renly Baratheon, no matter how handsome he was, that was a surety. Renly was kind, and sweet, with a smile as easy as a summer day, as wide and glad as Jaime’s scowl was persistent and petulant. 

Eventually she abandoned her charges to her older brother Galladon who was, at six and ten, of an age with Jaime Lannister. Both boys were considered men even though her they were only two years older than she and Tyrion. Galladon tried to talk with their guests but Jaime would not speak and only Tyrion seemed to get on well with her brother, while Jaime continued to scowl. She left them, irritated, and could have sworn that she felt his flashing green eyes follow her as she did. 

By the time Podrick and Alysanne were dressed and ready to go downstairs, Brienne could hear others of her parent’s visitors arriving. She ran to her room and pulled out her nicest pair of grey trousers, her father had bought them for her in King’s Landing from a fancy dressmaker who made all her mother’s dresses. Her father knew how she hated dresses and skirts, and so he indulged her. They were soft and edged in black silk with silver buttons at the waist. She pulled on a delicate white top, with a bow that hung down from her neck, and tucked it into her trousers. She looked, she thought, to be very modern and grown up with her short hair combed back and curled. Her trousers were her favorite because they reminded her of her father’s army uniform, so she marched up to the mirror and saluted like he might, before she left her room to rejoin her family and their guests. She couldn’t wait to get downstairs, there was much talking and dancing to be had and an entire days’ worth of celebrating to be done. 

Eventually the Baratheon’s did show up, Cersei Lannister among them. Tyrion explained that she was Jaime’s twin sister, apparently, and was to be wed to Renly’s older brother Robert. She was beautiful with golden hair like both her brothers, in a filmy red dress that would have made Brienne look silly. It matched Godfather Tywin’s coat. All the children played games, Brienne feeling not quite too old to play but still taller than most of the other children. Loras Tyrell, Renly, and Tyrion played too, but Galladon and Jaime stood by with the older guests, talking with Cersei and Robert Baratheon. They drank, the four of them, from large mugs of ale. Jaime, all the while, glowering and watching Brienne. She could feel his eyes, which had reminded her so much of summer that morning, prickling the back of her neck as she clambered about with the other children. They played many games, Come into my Castle, King of the Mountain among them, and nearer to dinner, Sleeping Lions. The Septmas feast was large and lavish, with roast ducks, thick white china filled with fragrant trimmings, and tinted red and black Septmas goblets. Jaime was sat beside her, glassy-eyed and no longer scowling but he was not smiling either. The table was packed and on her other side was old Lord Wagstaff who smelled of cabbages, so Brienne pushed her chair tight against her Godfather’s son until she could feel the warmth of his leg through the fabric of her thin trousers. 

He didn’t say anything to her, but he filled her glass with red wine even though she wasn’t supposed to have any and served her first whenever a dish of food passed them by. Her father was loudly speaking at the other end of the table, talking about a tour he did with the army across the Narrow Sea, when Jaime leaned over and told her she was good with a sword, “for a girl,” he’d said. His breath was hot on her ear and Brienne shivered at how close he was, his warm hand settled on her thigh as he leaned over to speak with her. She had been playing Knights Errant with the boys earlier, just how Galladon had taught her. She had won the game by knocking all the other boys down with her chosen bit of wood from the back garden. Loras Tyrell had been the last and most difficult to defeat. She had felt Jaime’s eyes on her then too, when she had defeated Loras and when Renly was helping the other boy up. Margaery Tyrell, Loras’ younger sister, had laughed and crowned Brienne the winner of the tournament and given her a kiss on the cheek. Robb Stark had asked for a kiss from Margaery then as well but instead she had run off with Robb’s younger sister to the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” she finally said in reply to his compliment, her voice breathy and shaky for no reason that she could think of. She turned to face him and found Jaime’s green eyes to be very close to her own, and examining her very carefully. 

“You’re not very pretty,” he told her matter-of-factly. It did not sting when he said it, she knew she was not very pretty. She was not pretty at all, actually. Her mother was and her sister Alysanne would be, and Cersei and Sansa and Margaery Tyrell all were lovely, pretty little girls, but Brienne was not like them. Dresses did not suit her and her hair broke at the tips when it grew too long and she was dusted with freckles from the tip of her nose to her toes. She often looked at herself in the mirror, her clothes abandoned at her feet. She would let her fingers follow her freckles down her neck to the buds of her small breasts, her areolas wide and dark against her very pale skin. Her stomach was taut and her hips were wider than her mother’s, freckles cascading ever downward like the snow that fell outside. She had thick, gold, curling hair between her legs that was new to her and so different from the hair on her head. Her legs too were different from her mother’s, longer and thicker and stronger. Her legs reminded Brienne more of her father’s, corded with muscle and strong enough to lift her up even at her height. 

“No, and you’re not very nice,” she answered him with an unpleasant truth of her own. 

“I know,” he said. He grinned then, almost a smile, his white teeth looking clean and predatory. His thick blond hair reminded her of a lion’s mane, shaggy around his head, framing his menacing, toothy grin like a crown. She blushed and turned away, spearing a round onion on her fork and pushing it into her mouth. 

After dinner there was dancing, as their always was. Brienne used to dance with her father, standing on his feet when she was little and letting him twirl her about the room. She was too old for that now. This year he danced with her mother alone, Alys Tarth’s hair coming loose from her bun in little rivulets of yellow that looked glossier than Brienne’s hair would ever be. Tywin danced with many of the ladies in attendance as well, and stole her mother away from her father several times to swing around the room. Brienne danced with Podrick and Alysanne, shying away from the center of the dance floor. Last year she had been asked to dance by Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington and a whole host of other boys, she had been flattered but they were cruel. They had tried to steal kisses from her for a bet. The prize was a gold dragon for whoever tricked her first. Hyle, in his haste, had torn her dress. It was not such a great loss, she thought, but she had thrown him to the ground all the same and hit him in the mouth. This year he was in attendance though he smartly stayed away from her much of the day. He was sulking with Randyl Tarly’s younger son Dickon and watching Daenarys Targaryan out of the corner of his big, brown cow’s eyes. He had almost tricked her with those eyes, but they were not as pretty as Jaime’s, nor did they glitter like his.

Jaime was very intently watching his sister float around the room on the arm of Robert Baratheon, her dress swirling and her hair floating down her back in waves of gold against red, the color of a sunset. He was so distracted that Brienne forgot all about their conversation and about him, seeing as he was ignoring her, until he was grabbing her up from her little brothers grasp and replacing her with Jeyne Poole. Jeyne looked disappointed to find herself in little Podrick’s arms and stared after Jaime and Brienne looking heartsick. He tugged Brienne along until they were on the edge of the center of the dance floor and there they stood. He said nothing as he waited, other dancers swirling around them like two stones in a stream. She looked at her shiny black shoes and his brown leather ones, and then to the tree and the other dancing couples until finally she lifted her head. “Jaime, what are we doing?” 

“Dancing,” he said, sounding exasperated. 

“But we’re not,” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes, we are, wench,” he insisted. “Wait a moment, will you.” 

And then it started. First the strains of a viola sighing, low and rumbling, followed by flutes and lutes. Jaime took her in his arms, pulling her close, and the violins swelled. The waltz began. There were trilling woodwinds and pipes of brass, all the while the violas and violins thumped out the beat, building like waves from the cold ocean outside their front door. He twirled her and held her close to him as they joined the others, dancing near to Loras and Margaery, Cersei and Robert, her father and mother, and all the other couples in silks and satins that attended her parent’s festive gathering. The music swayed and ebbed, moving faster until everything that was beyond Jaime was a blur. They kept moving, kept dancing, both of them agile on their feet. The world spun around her like she was standing on the center of a top and at any moment she feared the top would stop spinning and she would topple over. Her fingers gripped his red jacket, with its gold buttons down the front and shoulder straps. He looked like a handsome toy soldier. Finally the music stopped and Jaime released her, though she wobbled unsteadily. She curtsied on unsure feet, and he bowed. She went to thank him for the dance, like she was taught to, but he was gone, wadding through the throng of dancers and leaving her cold. 

She wandered back and made herself a seat on the floor by the large fireplace, knowing it was growing late and they would be opening the gifts soon. Sure enough, in a matter of only a few minutes, her father had called for the quieting of the music. Everyone in the room gathered around as Lord Selwyn lifted his hands as if to embrace them all in a great, big bear hug. 

“Friends,” he thundered, “we have made merry!” Everyone cheered and she felt her mother’s legs brush against her as Alys Tarth sat in the chair behind Brienne. “Now let us give unto one another so that we may not meet the great dragon’s wrath!” Everyone laughed but the sharp noise died down to a dull roar as gifts were produced from under the great tree and from behind backs. Large vases and glittering jewelry, rich silks of every color imaginable and hundreds of tinker toys were suddenly on display. The firelight and the many candles in the room made each and every scrap of colored paper dance as it was discarded on the floor. Podrick and Alysanne were at her side and Galladon was perched on the arm of her father’s chair, each member of the family talking and unpacking boxes laid at their feet and handing out boxes to their friends. Her father had a new pipe on his lips and her mother was donning a richly woven scarf on her shoulders when Godfather Tywin and his sons joined them. Tyrion was pulling behind him one of the large boxes from earlier, wrapped in paper the color of purest gold. He got behind the box and made a show of pushing it grudgingly before Pod and Alysanne, who were holding each other back from ripping the box open to expose its contents. 

Tyrion was wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, to Brienne’s mother’s laughing delight, when Jaime knelt down in front of her and handed Brienne a long package, also wrapped in gold and tied with a white satin ribbon. “My lady,” he said, bowing with a flourish and whispering that odd term, _wench_ , under his breath. Her mother handed her a gifts for her Godfather’s family to give to Jaime, which she did with trembling hands. His fingers, long and tapered and warm, brushed gently at her knuckles when he received each one. 

At last Podrick and Alysanne were able to rip open their box. It was a massive castle, with moving parts and hundreds of little carved knights in the rooms. There were queens and ladies as well, and Lords like her father. The children squealed with delight and began to play with it immediately. Galladon was given a book of histories that he was quite intrigued with and set about flipping through the pages immediately and showing all who passed the beautiful illuminations therein. Finally it was her turn and Brienne tried not to grow too excited. Jaime had given her the gift, after all, and he had been nothing but rude to her and odd. Calling her wench and making her dance and dragging her away from her brother. She nervously tore at the paper and when it came away she opened the box. Nestled inside was a toy knight, in gilded plate and carrying a sword. He had golden hair and green eyes and looked to her to be the exact replica of Jaime. She looked between the toy soldier and he in confusion before her Godfather’s son knelt beside her. 

“My father made it. It’s a nutcracker, see.” He lifted the toy from its box and gestured for Tyrion to hand him a thick walnut. He did so and Jaime placed the nut into the wide mouth of the nutcracker before lifting the knight’s right arm, sword and all, and bringing it down. The mouth of the doppelganger knight chomped and the walnut’s shell burst into pieces. Jaime’s nimble fingers grabbed the nut from the mouth of the knight and popped one of the chunks into his own mouth before putting the other in hers. Brienne tasted the salt of his finger on her tongue before he snatched his hand away and stood. All of her family was laughing at the novelty of the wonderful toys from her Godfather and congratulating him, but Brienne only stared after his strange son. He disappeared again as quickly as he had come, his brother and father along with him. The family was greeted by many more of their guests as the night wore on. And on it went, on and on and on. People stayed and danced, they ate and laughed, and they talked. After the gift giving was done some of the guests drifted out into the night to go warm themselves by their own fires. Over and over this went as Brienne and her family sat by the hearth, sometimes standing to dance or to jape, sometimes leaving but always coming back. 

In the midst of the evening Podrick stole away Brienne’s knight and used him to crack nuts to everyone’s amusement. Brienne got up and chased Podrick, trying to grab her toy back, but the little boy was fast and small. He ducked in and out of the crowd more easily than her, crowing and excitedly pumping the knight’s arm up and down to open and close his mouth. Brienne nearly had him when Podrick went careening into large Lord Manderly and dropped her precious nutcracker. Brienne thought her heart had stopped when she saw her knight crash into the floor. His perfect right hand, the one gripping his sword, came away with a loud crack. Brienne screamed. She ran to her knight and gathered him from the ground, taking care to get his hand as well. She was near to tears but she was a grown woman, not a silly little girl, so she didn’t let herself cry. She only walked carefully to the slab of stone she had been sat on in front of the hearth and picked up the discarded ribbon from his box, white and simple. She wrapped it gently around the wrist of her gallant, maimed knight, reattaching his hand carefully. When she was finished Brienne stayed there with her knight, his golden hair and golden armor shining like the sun in the glow of the hearth fire, clutched tight to her breast. 

Renly gave Brienne a locket with a delicate heart that she thought she might have loved if it weren’t for the nutcracker, injured in her lap. She thought he looked on the locket sourly and so did she after thanking Renly for it kindly, though there was nothing wrong with the locket. Instead she thought there was something wrong with her, for the locket was beautiful and delicate where she was not. She stowed the locket in her pocket and thought not again about it. Her father gave her a beautifully carved wooden sword, just like one Galladon had. She immediately longed to test it against the other boys but she did not want to leave her injured toy on the floor, discarded like her brother’s and sister’s beautiful clockwork castle. “You can try it on them tomorrow, sweetling,” Alys Tarth crooned in her daughter’s ear when Brienne sighed. Eventually the night wore on and the stars came out. The light glowed dimmer, the candles burning down, and the laughter subsided. 

Those that would stay with the Tarth’s remained sprawled in the parlor, their chairs pulled close to the fire, and told stories. They spoke of conquerors and kings, of gallant knights, beautiful ladies, and fierce warriors. Her father’s friend Goodwin told the story of a fairy-witch called Mirri, and her brother spoke of Trees that could speak themselves and knew all the stories ever told. Lastly, as the fire began to die, Lord Tywin told a story, the story of the Rat King. He started slow, speaking of the great Winter Kings of old, and his voice was so rich and dark that Brienne felt herself transported to the larder of the Rat King as he told of how the King’s own sons were served as the main course of the King’s great feast. She shivered to hear tell of his crimes against the Gods, of breaking faith. Her Godfather whispered, in his gravelly voice, of how the Rat King’s minions hid in clocks and cracks in the wall. And she snuggled back against her mother when he scratched at the floor, mimicking the scuttle of clawed little feet in a happy home, there only to wreak havoc. Brienne gripped her injured knight safely in her lap, promising softly to protect him. 

Sometime, much later than she was usually awake and even further along from her bedtime, Brienne began to doze. Tyrion and Jaime had come to sit by the fire as well during their father’s story, and Alysanne had crawled into Galladon’s lap and was snoring softly. The clock above the mantlepiece broke the silence of the night with a chime. _Kling, ding. Kling, ding._ It rang and rang and when Brienne cast her eyes up to see the little cuckoo bird that always greeted the hour, she thought that her knight looked up with her to see two mice, dressed like soldiers, scurring from the clock face and running across the mantle. Brienne started but when she blinked again the mice were gone. “It’s time for bed,” said a voice close to her neck, hot breath ghosting over her hair and stirring her. Brienne found herself again, face to face with Jaime. Her father was standing, holding Podrick over his shoulder, and Galladon was carrying Alysanne still, following their father from the room. Brienne’s mother was speaking with Lord Tywin of sleeping arrangements, walking towards the door with Tyrion trotting after them. Jaime’s hand was extended to her and so she sleepily took it, too shocked to be thinking of her knight discarded beside her mother’s chair. 

He held her hand the whole way, following behind their parents and siblings, up the stairs and into her room they went. Brienne was tired, but she blushed when Jaime stepped inside behind her. He looked over her bedchamber critically, his green eyes glinting. “How does a giantess like you fit in that small bed?” He asked her, seemingly serious. She bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, too warm and sleepy to argue with him. 

“I am going to change clothes,” she announced to him, already untying the length around her neck and expecting him to be on his way.

“Well I didn’t expect you to sleep in that,” he replied, unmoving.

Brienne’s fingers halted while she waited for him to leave, but he didn’t. He just examined the bits and bobs on her tables and on the sill of her window. She had soldiers and other toy knights and she had pads of paper with drawings covering the pages. He examined her work while she waited, clearing her throat to try and stir him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” She asked. He gazed at her, a dark smirk on his lips.

“We are to bed down together, wench, did not you hear? Don’t you want to be _kind_ to me?” She stiffened and looked to his face for any hint of a lie. She could find none but she did not know him so well enough to know for sure.

“Of course I do,” she stuttered, only somewhat honestly. “My name is Brienne,” she told him again. She shuffled her feet and wrung her hands. “Still, I must change. Please turn around,” she said, cursing the tremor in her voice.

“I’m not interested in what you look like under those trousers, go on and change. I’m not looking, wench.” She blushed anew and wondered why she was not more relieved, before scowling at his infuriating insistence not to use her name. He seemed to realize her anger, laughing. “Would you prefer me call you girl? Or my lady?” He asked her, not sounding as though he much cared what she wanted him to call her.

“Where will you sleep?” She asked, turning from him and untying her blouse.

“Why, in bed with you. There is enough room for both of us,” he supplied. Brienne colored in the dark, her face a deep crimson. Jaime stepped around her side until he was standing directly in her line of sight. They were near the same height. She had, perhaps, a quarter of inch on him, she thought. He came closer and she braced herself, thinking he was going to kiss her, but he only moved to sit on the bed. “Comfy,” he said, sighing, and fell back. “Though I don’t know how you’re going to fit as well.” Just then, to Brienne’s relief, Tyrion stumbled into her bedroom and beckoned to his brother.

“Are you coming? Alys has made up the guest room for us, brother.” The dwarf bid Brienne a good night and exited the way he came. Jaime, laughing at her, followed him. 

“Goodnight, wench,” he called back over his shoulder. She exhaled sharply and tugged her shirt over her head. She undid her trousers and pulled on her nightgown before climbing into the bed. The space where he had been laid was still warm. Brienne resolved not to think about their strange encounter or of Jaime at all as she let her eyes slip shut. 

It felt like only a second passed when her blue eyes snapped open again in the dark. There was a chiming from downstairs, the clock striking one. Brienne reached for her knight, to comfort him, but he was not there. A burst of fear ran through her when she remembered him, his painted bottle-green eyes watching her leave with Jaime as he lay forgotten beside the fireplace. Her poor knight! Brienne climbed out of bed and made her way into the hall to the stairs. They creaked loudly in the still, like thunder and heat lightening on a summer’s eve, but no one opened their door to follow her. She tiptoed across the hall and pulled open the doors to the parlor. It was warm and the embers of the fire still glowed in the grate, casting a strange light around the room. Her knight was there, injured on the floor where she left him, and in need of tending. Brienne ran across the room, her nightgown swirling around her calves as she had grown so tall that it was not long enough to reach the floor. She dropped to her knees and lifted up her nutcracker. His face seemed wry and not so friendly as before and she thought perhaps he looked pained, though she knew it must be the strange glimmering from the hearth that did it. 

“I am not a foolish girl,” she asserted to the night, “who thinks a doll could make faces at me, but I’m so sorry for your maiming, ser, and for leaving you,” she apologized sincerely.

“Not at all, my lady, for I am a lion and not easily cowed,” he said kindly. Brienne would have screamed but she felt light-headed, as though her head were shrinking to nothing. She swooned and when she opened her eyes Jaime had caught her. “Are you unwell, Princess?” She looked to her hands but her precious nutcracker was gone.

“Jaime?” He looked at her quizzically. “Jaime, where is the nutcracker?” She asked again.

“But I _am_ Nutcracker,” he said and she looked closely at him. He had golden hair and flashing green eyes and, yes, he had a white bandage made from soft ribbon around his wrist! He held in his good hand his sword, which was long and gleaming. “I am sorry you are unwell, you have taken such good care of me, but we must away, Princess!” The Nutcracker grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the now looming tree that seemed to be miles high in her estimation, as though she were herself a doll. There was a scratching and scurrying behind her as they ran and Brienne feared to look back and see what might be following them. But look back she did, as they rounded her family’s great tree, and behind them were thousands of pinpricks of light. Each one glittered like a gem or a star, sparkling in the dark, but they were not gems, they were eyes. Brienne would have shrieked in terror if she weren’t using all her breath to keep up with Jaime. _No, not Jaime_ , she thought, _Nutcracker_. 

All of a sudden Nutcracker began to shout and he called and called as they ran, “Friends, friends,” he cried. “Up, up, awake, awake! Brothers,” he called to the toy castle, tall and grand before them, “will you stand with me in this hard fight?” And the drawbridge was lowered as they neared and out streamed knights and ladies, all in lines as if for battle and all with gleaming weapons so sharp and bright that Brienne felt heartened even though the scratching at her back grew louder and was accompanied by shrill squeaking. 

“We will follow thee, my Lord,” said Podrick’s favorite knight, a doll with copper colored string for hair and sword as long as her Nutcracker’s. “To victory or death!” Nutcracker dragged her behind the lines and they turned to face the oncoming tide of mice. Their scratching and squeaking had stopped and the mice lined up before the castle in neat little lines, prepared for battle as her brother’s knights and ladies had done. 

“You are good with a sword, Princess,” the Nutcracker said, sounding sure.

“I think so, yes,” Brienne answered. “My brother taught me.” And the nutcracker smiled at her, a beautiful wide smile that made her warm to him immediately. She thought it was sad that her Godfather’s son Jaime did not smile at her like that. 

“Well then you shall carry this,” he told her, handing her his sword with a bow. 

Brienne took the gleaming blade, swirled red and black in Septmas Day colors, and waved it carefully before her. “Thank you,” she cried, “but what about you? You have nothing to fight with, and I can give you no favor!” She had read in stories of how ladies would give their knight or lover a favor to carry with him into battle but she had nothing of the sort and was not that kind of girl. 

Nutcracker lifted his wrist and showed her the ribbon, removing it easily. She gasped but his hand did not fall off. It was mended! “You have healed me, Princess, and so I shall wear your ribbon as my favor. Do not worry for me,” he assured her as he laid the ribbon over his shoulders, “there are many and more than enough blades here for me to find one to fight with.” He asked a passing drummer that Brienne recognized from her brother’s toy soldiers, and soon was outfitted with another weapon. It was just in time for there was a great cracking noise and up pushed one of the floor boards. She turned to the noise along with her comrades in arms and was horrified to witness a great rat ascend. He had a monstrous head and on it was perched a golden crown, but his face was rotted and his flesh and fur were falling from his bones. The Rat King! In his neck was a thick tear, as though his throat had been slit as it was in the story, for all of his children to climb out. Brienne found her hand in the warm grip of her nutcracker and when she looked to him, his face was grave. “You need not fight,” he told her, but she could not let him face the horrible foe alone. 

“I will not leave you,” she told him, truthfully. He nodded once and released her to stir his army. 

There were soldiers and knights, lords and ladies. Brienne saw all manner of beast amongst the lines, galloping horses, large mountain lions, and even the beautiful glass dragon from her family’s great Septmas tree. He called out to the men, preparing to fight, and gave them encouragement. He told the copper-haired knight that he would be general of the artillery and he gave command of the cavalry to a wildling puppet with long legs and a dragonglass spear. “You will stay beside me,” he said to her before beckoning the drummer back. “Beat out a tempo, drummer, so that our men have music to dance to!” 

So began a great battle. There were cannons filled with caraway seeds and swords flashing and clashing all around her. She hacked at the mice, just as her father and brother had showed her, with Nutcracker by her side and at her back. She was not afraid she would die, cut down in the flower of her youth, but afraid that her Nutcracker might be injured again, though she need not have feared. He was good with a sword, better than her brother and much better than any of the mice army that crashed and broke against him like waves on a stony shore. The Nutcracker threw himself into the thickest throngs of the battle and so too Brienne followed him, admiring his skill and courage as she fought at his side. He called orders to his men and they listened, though the mice were many and always seemed to deploy more and more ugly rodents onto the field. Brienne began to fear that they would lose, but she did not give up hope and fought on beside her knight valiantly. 

Into the milieu came their own reinforcements, a Meereenese general on a great aurochs came forth, followed by smiths and tinker toy gardeners and all the dolls she had ever owned. They fought with a coolness and bravery that she had only ever read about in her father’s books and it was thanks to them that the tide of the battle finally turned. Back and back they pushed the ugly mice, snarling and squeaking. It went on in this way until the Rat King himself stood before Nutcracker, looking foul and ugly with his yellowed teeth, dripping blood red throat and wiry hair. He squeaked and squeaked, loud and hideous from his wide mouth as he fought her Nutcracker. The pair was well-matched but the Rat King had a great advantage in his gaping mouth and sharp teeth, he endeavored to bite Nutcracker with every swing until he knocked away her handsome Nutcracker’s sword. Brienne did not know what she would do until the act was done, she had run forward with her gleaming black and red blade. “Jaime!” She cried out and plunged the sword into the back of the evil Rat King.

The mice ran then, scurrying to every wall and crawling into their holes, and the soldiers and knights and dragons all roared and jumped with joy. Brienne dropped to her knees, her nightgown pooling on the floor around her, and hugged Nutcracker tightly to her. “I thought you would die, Ser!” 

“Never with mine own lady beside me,” he told her and she blushed hotly. Then, standing, he took her hand and they returned to the castle. “Now that my enemy lies vanquished, will you come with me, my warrior princess? I have much I would show you.” She nodded and let him lead the way across the wide wood boards. The toys were pulling out long tables and on them sat the large cracked nuts from earlier in the evening and candied sugar plums cut into wedges, one of which was big enough to feed twenty of the guests. Her Nutcracker led her to the high table, set up on a box of dominoes, and pulled out a chair for her to sit. He then took the seat beside her and rested his warm hand, so real and life like, atop hers. He served her first of every dish that passed them and whispered in her ear sweet things she did not know how to respond to. Brienne was not a pretty girl, nor a particularly special girl, but the Nutcracker was so kind to her that she could not distrust him. 

After they feasted on cream and nuts and sweet, fragrant fruits, there was entertainment. Dancers from her sister’s menagerie of dolls from the free cities twirled about, their long, white hair swirling and sparkling. The whole parlor, wide and large as it was, was filled with music she had never heard coming from strange instruments she had never seen. Apes in jackets beat cymbals together and brightly-colored harlequins danced with men who had tinkling little bells braided into their long, dark hair. There was a large stuffed bear, dressed in a pink satin gown, which twisted and bent so that the skirt fanned around its thick, furry middle. Amid the dancing her Nutcracker rose and took her hand, leading her to the center of the dancers and stood with her there until the music stopped.

“Nutcracker, what are we doing here?” She asked him, and all of the attendees to their festivities looked to her Nutcracker to hear the answer. 

“We are dancing,” he said graciously, bowing to her. 

“But we’re not,” she told him, gesturing to the still figures around them. Suddenly she heard the strains of a delicate viola, low and rumbling. It was followed by lutes and flutes, and drums. The wailing of a delicate violin was heard over all the other singing toy instruments. Her Nutcracker took her in his arms and spun her in a waltz about the room, his quick and nimble feet moving surely and his strong arms nearly lifting her as they spun. They whirled and whirled and she felt not at all her own height and strength, which she always felt aware of, but instead felt light and lissome. He turned her so quickly that everything beyond her Nutcracker’s smiling face was a blur and her head began to feel light again, and fuzzy. He nuzzled her cheek softly and whispered in her ear, “you are mine, and I am thine.” And he kissed her on the mouth, warm and sweet and ever so gentle.

Brienne opened her eyes and blinked, the sunlight filtering into her room was early morning light and hazy. Before her was her Nutcracker! He was bent over her bed and wide-eyed but he was not in his gay red jacket with its gold buttons. Instead he wore striped pajamas with the top buttons undone and the pants low on his waist. She sat up and flung her arms around him, placing a small kiss on his neck and pulling him down to sit. “It’s only some glue,” he said, patting her back gently and sighing into her embrace. Brienne fell back slightly, confused at his words.

“What?” She asked him, and he gestured beside her. She looked and saw her nutcracker there, lying inert on her quilt. “My nutcracker,” she said, looking from the boy in front of her to the toy on her bed. “Thank you, ser.” She blushed. _It was Jaime_ , she thought, _Jaime who fixed my dear nutcracker! And did he kiss me too?_ She wondered, touching her lips gingerly. 

“Yeah, well, it was very stupid of you to let it get broken but…” He lifted his hand up and rubbed his neck, not meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome, I guess, Princess.” Then Jaime smiled. It was as large and wide as the smile of her nutcracker, and warmed her so she caught her breath. He stood up, unpacking himself from sitting beside her, and turned to reach out a hand as a knight might to a lady. “Are you coming to breakfast?” He asked her. 

She nodded and took his hand, letting him pull her up. She used her other hand to arrange her nutcracker carefully on her pillow, wholly well again. “Where is my ribbon?” She asked suddenly and Jaime, somewhat reluctantly it seemed, produced it from his pajama shirt pocket. 

“Would you like it back?” He asked her, offering her the little bandage as they walked out of her bedroom and towards the kitchen and the wafting smells of bacon and sausage, eggs and potatoes.

“No,” she rushed out, blushing, “you may keep it.” And he did, deftly tying the ribbon around his wrist using his dexterous fingers and teeth. She could hear her parents in the kitchen talking with her Godfather, who was chuckling at something her mother had said. 

“And you have no idea how they all ended up out beneath the tree,” she heard him asking.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Every hit, comment, and kudo is very much appreciated and cherished. I wish you all happy holidays and have a very, merry New Year!!


End file.
